


Both at once

by mollywatson



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cinnamon rolls, Demon, Domestic, Fantasy, Flash Fic, Fluff, Gay, Get in angel, Happy, Love, M/M, Other, Romance, Soulmates, Sweet, Wholesome, Wine, angel - Freeform, candyfloss, crowziraphale, garden, homely, m/m - Freeform, queer, romantic, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollywatson/pseuds/mollywatson
Summary: It starts, as it will end, with a garden.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 7





	Both at once

It starts, as it will end, with a garden.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley would be burning up inside, running over all the could-haves and should-haves and all the other hateful phrases that had a unique craft for somehow tearing something open and stuffing something up, so that Crowley must be simultaneously full of gaping holes and thoroughly draft-proofed. The result was, that he would be without a partner in conversation for the next little bit of time. If only he could detach these periods of quiet from the torture he knew Crowley was putting himself through - and he now knew Crowley to be a very expert torturer, both figuratively and literally - he might enjoy the permission this space gave him just to watch his demon, without having those big, indelibly attentive yellow eyes fixed on him in return. Just try taking anything in with those on you. It was like being in the driving seat of a car that was braking and accelerating at once.

Anyway, enough of this ‘both at once’ stuff. At least one of them needed to keep a clear head. At least, before there was wine.

Aziraphale made his way tentatively down the path, the stones encroached upon by sweetly wild beginnings of plants growing of their own volition and not from a fear of God (or, well, demon). Muscles aching pleasantly from the day’s exertions, he relished the feel of the wine bottle neck in his grip, glass thick and smooth until the cusp of the velveteen label. In his other hand, two glasses, a treasured cascade between his fingers. In his mouth: his heart, and poised words of comfort.

Turning a wisteria-slows corner, the angel scanned the secluded spot of the garden among the tall reeds and bushes for his husband. No sign. A reed on the opposite side of the clearing seemed to cough; doubling over as if kicked in the groin, with a sharp, short rustle.

Found him.

The reed growled.

As the angel came nearer, pushing aside the spotless green heights around him, the growls became slightly - only slightly - more comprehensible. “Bloody - stupid - flambé - torch - bloody - stupid - uncool - godfather-“ - more reeds coughing - “grrrrshould’veknownhrgrggghh…”

Aziraphale took the liberty of padding on, in his soft nature, patiently awaiting a pause in the self-deprecating obscenities issuing from their exquisite foliage. He leaned into the sun shining on a little patch of exposed neck and addressed the groan in his knees, stretching as he went with the abandon of the Ministry of Silly Walks, secure in the knowledge that he, at least, was not being observed.

The rant seemed not to show any signs of ending soon.

“It really wasn’t all that bad, you know. I think they liked you.”

The reeds went still for a moment, then burst forth with a disembodied head bearing Aziraphale’s favourite face. The angular jaw the shade of 7 o’ clock, the bright copper hair with a frankly salacious attitude, the thin lips pursed in a permanent snarling smirk, and then… those eyes. They paused on Aziraphale for a tiny moment. Nothing in the garden moved.

“Are you patronising me?”

“Oh, would I?!”

“I set your adoptive nibling on FIRE.”

“Our adoptive nibling,” Aziraphale corrected, the smile growing inside him. “And they were wearing a rather unsuitable substance in their hair, so it’s just as well really. Good a time as any to learn the dangers of… whatever it was.” The amber eyes thought for a second. “Anyway,” he continued, “You don’t usually think twice about performing similar acts on purpose.”

“Well, yes, but… it’s different now.”

“Yes, it’s different now.” Aziraphale took advantage of this liminal space in which he could observe those eyes in all their furious glory while the fire behind them was otherwise occupied. But he knew he couldn’t get away with that for long. “So, dare I ask, what were you doing in there?”

“.... Pruning.”

“Pruning?”

“Mmm.”

“Ah.”

“And what were you doing out here?”

Thinking of all the clever things I want to say to your eyes while they’re on me, but can’t. “Oh, you know, I was just pottering about, really, and I thought, we might…” he trailed off, waving the bottle of wine in an apologetic gesture, an uncertain grin flashing on his beatific angel face.

Subtle as his hopes, Aziraphale could swear he saw the tweak of a secretive smile pulling at the demon’s lips in front of him. The yellow eyes scanned to his feet and up again to meet his own. “Get in, angel.”

“I don’t suppose you have that, uh, flambé torch in here with you, do you?” His hopes dared to put one foot forward as the angel clambered into the reeds, and Crowley caught him around the waist, half-carrying him the rest of the way in.

And again, as always, they fell in love. Both, and all, at once.


End file.
